Into the Coldest Night
by Cap10
Summary: Near the end of the Korean War Lt. Alfred F. Jone's plane was shot down over Russia...now the world hangs in the balance. England must cross the Ice Curtain and traverse Siberia in the depth of winter to rescue the America before Russia figures out something is wrong. Unfortunately the nations of the Soviet Union are far smarter than the west gives them credit for.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note**__- Hey everyone. Welcome to my newest story. This is my first time writing a fictional piece in the Hetalia universe. It also my first time writing with a set chapter limit. This piece will be exactly 14 chapters with a prologue and a postscript because it mirrors one of the two books that the characters will be reading. If you are interested in reading a long that I would suggest tracking down a copy, Arctic Manual by Vihjalmur Stefansson and Casino Royale by Ian Fleming. Also I am only planning on posting chapters once a month for this piece. That way I will be able to catch up and finish some of my other stories._

_**Disclaimer-**__ I don't own Hetalia, or the corrections my wonderful betas Doctor Person and TheNSIGirl have made…I do own any of the mistakes though._

_**Dedication**__- To the 31 American Korean War Pilots who are still MIA. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

* * *

**Into the Coldest Night**

* * *

There was a time when the United States of America and Russia had been allies. Some might have even argued that the two nations could have been had been friends. In the past Russia had sold its only territory to America to keep it out of British hands, America had loaned and leased massive amounts equipment and ammunition to support the Soviet Union's fight against Nazi Germany. Unfortunately at the end of the Second World War, the delicate relationship between the two super powers had crumbled and that had plunged the world back into a global war.

The current war between the United States and the Soviet Union was significantly different from any that had preceded it. It was a war of ideology, of two very different government systems, and it was a war where both sides were able to wield enough nuclear weapons to wipe out every man, woman, and child on the planet. As a result it was an unspoken rule that the two nations could never directly attack the other. Instead America and Russia began to play a delicate game of chess using the weaker nations of the world as pieces.

Russia had made the opening gambit, stating that the Soviet Union should be allowed to occupy the Northern half of Japan and to also extract compensation from Austria. The United States had blocked that move, arguing that most of the work to defeat the Japanese had been done by the Americas, Chinese, and the citizens of the British Commonwealth nations in the Pacific. The allies as a whole argued that Austria was a victim of WWII and thus it could only be occupied to get the country back on its feet. The Soviet Union was given a few of the most northerly rocky Japanese island and North Korea instead of the heavily populated major Japanese islands. Little did the allies know that the decision would lead to the first major military conflict between the United States of America and the Soviet Union.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_**February 19**__**th**__**, 1953**_

_**MIG Alley, North Korea**_

As far as the 319th Fighter Intercept Squadron was concerned, First Lt. Alfred F. Jones was the baby brother of the entire unit. He had grown up in a tiny town in Kansas, and signed up for ROTC in high school. He was granted a two year scholarship by the Air Force ROTC at Texas A&M which allowed him to complete two years of engineering before attending flight school. He graduated the best in his flight class and as a result got first pick of aircraft that he would learn to fly in combat. Like many of the top pilots in flight school, he chose fighters.

Initially, Alfred was supposed to go back to Texas A&M to finish up his degree after training with his aircraft, but the Korean War changed that. After completing his flight training he was assigned to the 319th FIS, which many considered to be one of the best flying outfits in the U.S. Air Force. It was a group of pilots made up mostly of men in their late twenties and thirties who had been successful military pilots during WWII. In contrast Alfred had only turned twenty-one the previous Fourth of July, and had limited flight time and no combat experience.

Still the young pilot had earned the respect of his fellows by being able to push his Lockheed F-94A Starfire, _the Lady Liberty_, harder and faster than any other pilot in the unit. Alfred ability to make his plane dance across the sky was the primary reason why he was pulled from the duty patrolling and protecting the air base to join a team of eight Starfires to escort a wing of B-29 Superfortresses on a nighttime raid to bomb a series of warehoused deep in enemy territory.

"Jones, we've got bogies on our six." In the seat behind the pilot, Lt. Thomas 'Tommy' Richardson to radar officer spoke up. The kid was only a year and a half older than Jones, but like the pilot he was very good at what he was doing.

"Roger that, can you identify?"

"Looks like either a Type 19 or Type 29." The RO said trying to focus on the fast moving planes. "In this light I can't tell the difference unless they get a whole lot closer."

Jones had to do his best not to swear. Even thought the F-94 was considered to be one of the most advanced aircraft that the United States Air Force had at its disposal, the Soviet MiGs were worthy opponents. The plane could climb high and faster than any American fighter jet, and in most dogfights the upper ground was a big advantage.

Luckily the F-94 had several things going in its favor. The first was the planes greater maneuverability. All of America's new fighter jets were designed to be flown using a G-suit. These suits allowed the American pilot to pull one additional G then their Russian counterpart. While it seemed like small advantage it could make a huge difference in the tight turn of a dog fight. The other advantage was the fact the F-94 could drop like a rock in a dive. Unfortunately that diving capability was worthless in this type of an air battle. If the fighter dived to avoid the MiGs the B-29 would be defenseless.

The Russian MiGs swopped into the formation from above, their guns leaving glowing trails through the sky as they strafed the bombers. The flight leader commanded the one of the two groups of four to pursue and distract the enemy so that the B-29 could complete their mission and fly to safety. The_ Lady Liberty_ peeled away from the group following his lead plane the _Anita._

At first it seemed like all the Russian wanted to do was tease the Americans. Once the group of four was on their tail, the group of five MiGs ran back towards the Chinese border. That retreat turned out to be a ruse. Soon out of the night an additional five planes came screaming from above. The Russian flight team had assessing planes and had figured out that the _Lady Liberty_ was the junior member of the group. Like wolves, the MiGs systematically herded Lt. Jones away from the rest of his unit.

Forced to run from an overwhelming odds Lt. Alfred Jones pushed his plane to its physical limits. He threw it into spirals and turns so sharp that his vision grayed on the edges and his RO in the back seat blacked out due to the G-forces. Despite the fancy flying whenever he pulled out of a maneuver a MiG was waiting for him. He was trapped.

"_Jones we have lost visual contact. Where are you?" _The voice of the flight leader crackled over the planes radio.

"I have no clue. I haven't had time to check the map yet due to the fact that I have Ruskies on my tail forcing me to dance."

"_Stay strong kid, we have half the unit looking for you."_ The flight leader said over the radio to try to calm the young, lost pilot._ "What is your fuel status?"_

"Nowhere near Bingo. I estimate that I have maybe four hours of flight time left, longer if I can get these bogies of my tail."

Combat air radius was one of the only aspects of the F-94A actually was superior to the F-94B. The planes lower speed and the fact that the engine lacked an afterburner meant that Alfred could fly the _Lady Liberty_ one hundred miles more than the_ Anita_.

"_Try your best to disengage and fly south. If you see any landmarks that can help us determine your current position let me know. I want us all to make it back to base."_

"Roger that."

"_Good Luck."_ And when his flight leader sighed off, Jones added the unspoken goodbye…after all the whole flight group had heard about these types of attacks. When the Russians managed to separated a single aircraft from a large formation it was usually just a matter of time before that plane was shot down. The chances of the Lady Liberty returning to the airbase were slim to none.

* * *

It was pretty clear that the Russians didn't want them dead. If they had, the _Lady Liberty_ would have been shot down several times by now. Instead the communist were probably trying to capture the plane so that they could reverse engineer it. The two men figured that this was their motive because the MiGs only shot at them when they tried to fly due south. They had let them turn slightly towards the east and Alfred knew that with enough time they could get over the ocean. Sadly he didn't think that the Starfire would make it that far. It was already running on fumes and he knew that when the engines finally went out going out the plane would have the glide ratio of a rock. The Russians had won. The _Lady Liberty_ was going down hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, but perhaps they could prevent them from claiming their prize.

"What if we flew into that cloud bank?" Tommy Richardson said quietly, as he stared at a menacing pile of clouds forming on their southeast.

"Flying in those conditions would be suicide, even with our radar." Alfred replied numbly.

"They wouldn't follow us and at least Ruskies won't find our bodies…" _Or the plane_, Alfred added mentally as RO spoke. "And who knows, maybe we could take a few more of them out with us."

"Yeah, if we can convince two of them to follow us then we will have five kills and we will be aces." Banking sharply and plunged into the clouds. For the first few minutes all he could do was fly by his instruments.

"Imagine that, the_ Lady_ could be the very first Starfire to get the title of ace." Tommy said wistfully. Then the two airmen let silence laps between them. They both knew that there time was limited. In the front the pilot wrestled with the controls in the vain hope that they could ditch the plane over the ocean. In the back the OR took the time to think of his family and try to make peace with his maker.

Less than fifteen minutes later, wing clipped a mountain ridge causing the plane to turn sideways. It cart wheeled, wing tip over wing tip, down the mountain. The ice, snow, and rock carved large chunks of the plane but somehow the jet managed not to explode.

The next thing Alfred knew was that the plane had slide to a stop and he was hanging upside down loosely held by the seats safety straps. Slowly the lieutenant tried to blink the stars from his vision, but it only seemed to make his headache worse so he tried to get his bearing instead. The windscreen of his aircraft was smashed. His dashboard was streaked with blood. The only light was the red glow of a fire reflecting off of fog and smoke.

Alfred tried to crane his head to see where the fire was, but the movement caused his world to explode into pain. His instincts screamed for him to escape, but he soon discovered that his hands were too shaky to detach his harness. He tried reaching for the fire extinguisher instead, but only managed to bump an open facture. As his vision grayed to black, the only thing that the pilot could think about was the possibility of burning alive in his plane.

* * *

_**February 20**__**th**__**, 1953**_

_**Mountains of Amur Oblast, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (RSFSF)**_

When Lt. Jones woke, the first sensation he could feel was that of incredibly cold…the second was the sensation of hanging upside down. Slowly he tried to open his eyes. His left cracked open but his right refused to budge. Gingerly, Alfred lifted his right hand to his face. His fingers probed his eye and slowly he recognized that a combination of swelling and some type of ice had sealed the lids shut. Seeking the source of the ice he allowed his hand to feel across the rest of his face. Part way on their transit across his cheek, his fingers discovered a ragging hole torn across the skin. Probing it further he realized he could feel teeth and gum through the hole…the hole when all the way through his cheek.

Alfred felt the panic rising within him. The vision in his one good eye grayed and he had to suck in lung fulls of the frigid air to keep himself from throwing up. Once he was once again in control, Alfred began a systematic search of what was wrong with his body. It was pretty clear that his left arm was broken; an elbow couldn't bend that way naturally. He also suspected that his right and possibly left ankles had been shattered but he wouldn't be able to tell until he found a way to move the chunk of bulkhead that was currently pinning them to the former floor of the cockpit. In addition to the broken bones, there was a number of oozing cuts scattered across his body and the skin on his left forearm had been chard black.

"Tommy, you still back there?" Alfred rasped, but there was no answer in return. Slowly, painfully, he was able to turn his head just enough to see the back of the cockpit with the corner of his eye. What he saw almost made him puke again. There was absolutely no way that Tommy was still alive. The corpse in the back seat was barely recognizable as human.

If Lt. Jones would have been human he would have probably done everything in his power to destroy his F-94 Starfire, then lain down in the snow and let the elements claim him. The act wouldn't have been suicidal. It would have just been acceptance that this far into enemy territory there was no hope of rescue, that with his shattered bones and burns there was no way that he could safely make it to south Korea on foot, and the knowledge that being captured by the enemy would mean a fate worse than death. Unfortunately, for Lt. Alfred F. Jones he wasn't human. He was the personification of the United States of America and nations couldn't die in the same ways that humans did.

Resolute, America forced his shaking hand to undo the straps holding him upside down in his seat. He dropped suddenly to the roof of the plane. He then started to rip part the cockpit console to free his limbs from the broken machine. He wasn't sure how long it took him to untangle himself from aircraft. His watch had been smashed in the crash and concussion kept his mind foggy, but eventually he found himself lying outside on the snow. He desperately wanted to lay still. To sleep in the snow until all his wounds healed and the ache in his bones faded away. Unfortunately he didn't have the time. There was too much to do.

He pulled his fellow flight officer from the twisted wreckage and crawling he dragged his friend to a hollow in the rocks a few feet away. Winded he sat down next to the corpse for a few minutes to regain his breath, then he tried to rearrange the man into a more dignified position. He failed; the body had already frozen solid in the mountain air.

Unable to do anything else, America used his pocket knife to cut a long strip of fabric from the man's flight suit used it to wrap the RO face. After remove on set of Tommy's dog tags and taking a few mementoes for his family, he began the long and unenviable task of entombing the body in a grave of broken rock and snow. When the cairn was finished, the nation mumbled a few verses for the bible and said a prayer for his fallen comrade then turned to his plane.

The _Lady Liberty_ was a shattered shell of her former glory. There was no possible way that she would ever fly again. Three fourths of the right wing had been torn off, there was nothing left of the left. The tail of the plane was also missing and the nose was smashed beyond recognition. Large swaths of the engine exposed. On closer inspection America could tell that the fuel tank had also been shredded. The damage to the fuel system was so severe that he hypothesized that the only thing that had probably prevented the plane to from exploding on impact was the fact that it had been flying on fumes.

America pulled the survival gear from the base of each ejection seat. There were a few emergency rations, some water purification tablets, some maps, a gold coin, but unfortunately there was a lack of warm weather clothing and tents in the kit. He slowly limped, hopped, and crawled around the wreckage of the plane trying to find any other salvable equipment. He noticed that it was getting harder and harder to see. At first he assumed that the reductions his dimming vision must be caused by a storm rolling in or possibly by his injuries. Then his concussed mind realized that night was fast approaching and there was no place for him to take shelter from the elements.

For the first time America eyes truly scanned the barren landscape around him. He prayed for to see a tree, a shrub, anything organic that he could use to create a fire to ward of the frigid temperatures. Unfortunately the mountain slopes were bleak, empty, and windswept. It rapidly became clear that the only burnable things were the contents of the Lady Liberty, contents which had already mostly been reduced to ash. America's was going to be forced to experience an Arctic winter's night completely exposed to the elements.

Drowsily, America crawled towards one of the larger boulders. As he crept across the talus slopes he promised himself that he would destroy any of the sensitive technology the following morning and then begin the task of burying his beloved plane. America hoped that by hiding his aircraft the Soviets would find this place. But for now he curled into the fetal position under the shelter of a boulder and watched as the _Lady Liberty_ as the last of the electronic equipment smoldered. As the last sparks died in the wind, all America could do was stew over the problem of getting back to the United States before the nations of the Soviet Union discovered that he was missing.

* * *

_**End Note**__- If you enjoyed this prologue please drop me a line. Reviews help me know how I can improve the story._


	2. Chapter 1: Historical Background

_**Author's Note**__-Hey everyone, chapter 1 is finally up. This is a bit of a transitional chapter, and I will admit that is one of the big reasons it took me so long to complete. I got distracted by the polar bears, KGB agents, and old world magic that show up later in the story. Unfortunately for all of us, before high adventure can occur, ground work must be laid first. Just like the fact that there needs to be a few shout outs before the chapter can begin. First thank you reader, mofalle, and guest for reviewing the prologue and thank you to TheNSIGirl for betaing this chapter._

_**Disclaimer**__- Still don't own Hetalia. If I did, then I probably wouldn't bother stressing over finals week._

* * *

**Chapter 1- Historical Background**

* * *

_February 19__th__, 1953_

_Parliament Building, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada_

Sometimes Mathew Williams wondered why his current prime minister, Louis Stephen St-Laurent, insisted that he attend the national briefing every Thursday. It seemed hypocritical for the prime minister to insist that personification of Canada sit through a boring meeting each week while he had afternoon tea with various officials. If anyone needed to be at the weekly briefing it was the prime minister as he was rapidly losing touch with the day to day functioning of the nation.

Canada tried to stifle a yawn as a minor official from Alberta droned about K-12 budgets for the 53-54 school year. It wasn't that he didn't think that schools were important; education kept a nation moving forward after all. Instead his boredom was caused by the fact that he really couldn't do anything with the knowledge he was gaining from this meeting. The school systems were the responsibilities of the provinces and Canada was determined to keep it that way.

Finally, the man from Alberta sat down and an official from Quebec stood up. Five minutes after the man started his presentation on snow removal, Canada was trying to come up with a way to escape from the meeting. It wasn't like anyone would notice that he wasn't in the room, he was practically invisible ninety percent of the time, and he might actually be able to get some useful work done in his office. Maybe he could excuse himself to go to the bathroom and then spend the rest of the afternoon doing research with the librarian in the parliament library.

Canada's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp stab of pain. His heart sunk; he really wasn't in the mood to deal with a national emergency today. He closed his eyes for a few moments and tried to figure out which region of his country was affected, only to draw a blank. The pain was not coming from a domestic issue, which usually meant that something bad was going on in the country to the south.

Ignoring the official from Quebec, he tried to stand so he could leave the room but before he could step away from the table, another wave of pain hit him. His knees buckled and he reached out to the table to try and catch himself on the way down. He managed to grab hold of the table cloth, which didn't slow his decent but did end up pouring most of the contents of the table on top of him.

"Sir… Sir, is everything alright?" a concerned looking stenographer asked timidly once the clatter of fallen books and shattered water glasses had quieted.

"No," the nation admitted hoarsely, "something is very wrong."

Canada tried to get to his feet once again, but despite the knowledge that somewhere in the world his twin was in a lot of pain, he couldn't find the strength to stand.

* * *

_February 19__th__, 1953_

_CIA Headquarters, Fairfax, Virginia _

There was something wrong… The personification of Virginia couldn't put her finger on what it was, but she knew that something was deeply amiss in the world. The state tried to focus on her work but the feeling continued to gnaw at the bottom of her stomach. It was getting to the point that she was having a hard time focusing on the photos she was supposed to analyze and she was tempted to get in contact with her neighboring states despite the astronomical cost of long distance phone calls. However, before she could give in and reach for the phone, it began to ring. She hurriedly picked it up and pressed it to her ear.

"_Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Virginia Jones?"_

"Yes," she answered.

"_I am General Simons from the Pentagon."_ As the man spoke, the state looked down at the lights by her feet. That indicated that phone call originated from a secure line, which made Virginia wonder why he was calling.

"And?"

"_I need confirmation of clearance,"_ the officer on phone said, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Mother of States," Virginia gave her clearance code without a second thought. "What information do you have for me?"

"_Code Uwohli Eladi." _The man on the other end of the phone line botched the Cheyenne pronunciation but the meaning was clear. The Eagle was down… America was missing behind enemy lines.

"Do we have confirmation?"

"_Yes, Ma'am."_

"Alright, I need you to get a hold of the president. Other than reports to the commander and chief, no information will go out unless cleared by me, do you understand?" she paused just long enough to hear the military officer's confirmation, then continued speaking. "Good, I will keep in touch."

For a few precious moments, Virginia let herself stare at the phone. If the phone call she received was true, the United States of America was in a whole lot of trouble. The nation's personification had been lost in a theater of war. If he was captured by the enemy, it was possible that he would be forced to divulge information that would threaten the national security. Now it up to the states to ensure that any security leaks caused by the loss of America would be plugged before the rest of the world noticed.

Virginia took a deep breath before she picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang fourteen times before the state on the other end of the line picked up.

"Hello Sean, I know you were about to head out for a stock market meeting, but we have a Code Uwohli Eladi. As of now all information about the location of Alfred Jones or the rest of family is on lockdown. Any information release will be on a need-to-know basis. I need you to get to a location with a secure telephone line, contact the next individuals on the calling tree and then get your butt up to the Stewart Air Base. There will be a military jet there to transport you to Washington D.C."

Virginia stayed on the phone line just long enough to confirm that New York had understood all of her instructions before retrieving her personal documents and keys from her desk. With the personification of America lost behind enemy lines, there was a whole lot that needed to get done to ensure that the nation as a whole was safe and there was not nearly enough time to do them all.

* * *

_February 19__th__, 1953_

_Rose of England Manor, London, England_

It was an unspoken rule that states, territories, and provinces didn't call countries. This was especially true for countries which weren't their 'parents'. So when a panicked call from one of America's eastern states woke England in the dead of night, he knew that there was a reason for concern. The problem was that England's sleep-fogged and slightly hungover brain could not understand a word of what the state was trying to say.

"Calm down." England desperately tried dig through his head for the name of this particular state, but honestly, who expected him to keep track of all 48? He finally gave up trying. "Would you mind trying to speak slowly?"

"_Alfred…is….ing_." The broken statement cracked across the telephone line but Arthur still couldn't understand what the state was trying to tell him.

"I still couldn't understand a word you said. Take a few deep breaths and please try again."

"_Alfred's plane has gone missing and one of the territorial representatives thinks that he was shot down." _

"Where?"

"_The …S…R…"_ the state's voice dissolved into sobs.

"Speak again, enunciated this time."

"_There is evidence that he went down over Russia."_

England was now fully awake. America was trapped behind hundreds of miles behind enemy lines. Only America would have been so stupid to actually fight on the front lines of a battle; most other nations had the common sense to know that the risk of being captured by the enemy was simply too high to be justifiable. Unfortunately, America had to be the hero and it was difficult being a hero behind a desk.

"What information can you give me?"

"_Not much…."_ the state admitted but she outlined all the facts she knew about America's last flight in MIG Alley.

* * *

_February 19__th__, 1953_

_62 Queen Elizabeth Drive, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada_

The personification of the province of Ontario was fretting over him again. While Canada freely admitted that he was a particularly young nation, it didn't mean that he needed to be babysat… especially by one of his own provinces. Ontario seemed to take perverse pleasure in ignoring the fact that his nation was glaring at him, instead pretending to be engrossed in reading his novel. Canada had to use a lot of self control to keep himself from giving out an exasperated sigh.

"Thomas, isn't there anything else you busy yourself with?" he asked him.

"Not that I can think of," the province said, without looking up from his book. Canada tried again.

"Why don't you see if you can get a report from the States?"

"I highly doubt that they are suddenly going to start talking to us just because we call them thirty times instead of twenty-nine," the province yawned.

"Have you contacting the territories? Maybe they would be more willing to share information."

"We called all of the territories within our sphere of influence," Ontario said, placing a bookmark between the pages and setting the book on the bedside table. "Guam and Hawaii were polite but said that they didn't know anything. Alaska, on the other hand, informed the Yukon Territory that it was none of his business and promptly hung up. Her behavior indicates that the territories have some useful information. If the current situation drags on a few more days then we can have the Yukon Territory go and pester Alaska in person; we both know that she wouldn't actually kick Logan out of her house, regardless of how annoying he might be."

"Unfortunately, having Yukon go and find out what is going on in a few days doesn't change the fact we are clueless now," Canada countered grumpily.

"Did I ever tell you that you are the worst patient in the whole world?" the province rolled his eyes as he spoke.

"Every time I get sick."

"If you would have enough common sense to stay in bed when you are in this much pain instead of fighting me, I wouldn't have to bring up the subject." At Ontario's words Canada rolled his eyes, so the province tried a little bit different tactic. "Are you hungry?"

Canada sighed. He really didn't want to eat, but he knew the only way to convince Ontario to give him some room was to keep a meal down. "I guess I am up for some pancakes."

"Great, I will start with those."

* * *

Canada knew that Ontario hadn't been gone too long. Pancakes were quick and easy to make and he knew that all the ingredients needed to whip up a batch were in the cupboard. The province wouldn't need more than 30 minutes to make the meal, but to the nation, it seemed like an eternity had ticked by. It wasn't because of his current position (the northern country had felt pain much more acutely in the past); the time passed slowly because he could feel his twin's life blood leak out into the snow and his breath slow and he knew that there was nothing he could do to help him.

Gingerly, he got to his feet and started to pace the room - pacing allowed him to focus on his brother. Quietly, he tried to figure out exactly how America was hurt and where he was but no matter how hard he tried to focus he could feel his connection with his twin become less tangible. Canada bit his lip so hard that it bled when he felt America's heart flutter and then stop. Unable to support his own weight, his knees sagged and he fell down to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Mathew, what is going on?" Ontario was kneeling in front of him, panic in his eyes. Canada had to admit he was a bit confused; the words that were being said didn't make any sense and he didn't remember the province ever coming into the room. "Canada, I can't help you if you don't tell me what is going on!"

Canada discovered that he couldn't speak. Yes, the pain was now gone but it was replaced with the overwhelming feeling of being alone. Now that the place in his soul that his twin normally occupied was empty all that the northern nation wanted to do was curl up disappear… but he didn't have time for that. He couldn't afford to break down. He needed to get in contact with England immediately.

* * *

_February 20__th__, 1953_

_Broadway Buildings, London, England_

England added a little more whiskey to his coffee before taking a few gulps of the lukewarm liquid. He knew that he shouldn't be consuming alcohol on the job, but he really needed something to calm his nerves and the burn of the alcohol helped make the caffeinated black brew palatable. Even with the alcohol in his beverage, he couldn't stop his fingers nervously taping on the desk.

Frustrated, the nation got up and started to pass his small office on the sixth floor of the British Secret Intelligence Service. Out of all of his offices at the various British government agencies this was his smallest; it could barely hold his heavy wooden desk, two chairs, a safe and a filing cabinet comfortably. But he wasn't there for creature comforts, he was there to think and the people of MI6 were always perfectly happy to mind their own business.

Unfortunately, he wasn't really able to enjoy the privacy. A team of states were on their way to London with a few brief cases filled with all of the information that they had collected so far. The phone on the desk rang, and England picked up the handset for the rooms secure phone line praying that it wasn't Russia wanting to make demands on the other end.

"_Arthur, thank goodness you picked up. I tried calling your house earlier and no picked up…"_ The older nation could hear the personification of Canada hyperventilating on the other end of the phone line.

"Mathew, take a few deep breaths and tell me what is going on," he told him, relieved that it wasn't a ransom request from the Soviet Union.

"_Arthur, I think something bad has happened to Alfred…"_

"I know," he admitted flatly, his fingers absentmindedly searching for the lukewarm cup of coffee.

"_What do you mean you know!?" _

"I know something bad has happened to your twin," the older nation clarified quietly.

"_Where is Alfred? Where is America?"_

"I don't know."

"_What do you mean you don't know? You just said that you-"_

"Mathew is the phone line secure on your end?"

"… _Yes."_

"Good." England paused in order to give himself a few moments to sort through his thoughts. "Mathew, Alfred disappeared someplace north of MIG Alley. His states' suspect that his plane was shot down somewhere on the border of China and the Soviet Union."

On the other end of the line, the mild mannered nation swore. _"What information do we have?"_

"Not much." England then repeated all the evidence that the states had given him. When he finished, the line was silent for a few moments, making the nation worry that it had disconnected sometime during his monologue but Canada then spoke.

"_That makes sense…"_

"What?"

"_You remember that when we were young I could always tell when Alfred was about to play a prank or had scrapped his knee and stuff?"_

"Yes?" England prompted.

"_That's because I can feel him. This is especially true when he gets really excited, or scared, or in pain, but most of the time he is just there. Now, I can't feel him anymore and when I try it's almost like I am hitting a brick wall! Arthur,"_ Canada paused, _"I've never felt so alone in my whole life; I am really scared for Alfred."_

* * *

_February 20__th__, 1953_

_Communication Room, The Old Manor House, Virginia _

America had been missing for just over under a day, but the Canadians had already attempted to contact the American states on forty-seven occasions. Their northern ally had even tried to milk their territories for information though most of the states had managed to politely tell their Canadian counterparts that America's internal affairs were none of their beeswax, but the longer the issue continued, the higher the risk of a security breach was.

In Virginia's eyes, the only option left was to contact the personification of Canada and inform of his twin's disappearance. An hour ago she had brought this proposal to the Original Thirteen and all the states which were present agreed that it was time. Unfortunately, the unanimous vote didn't stop Virginia from feeling like a trader when she picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.

"_This is the William's residence. How can I help you?"_

"Hello Thomas, this is Virginia Jones. Is Mathew in?"

"_He's currently in bed sleeping. Would you like me to take a message?"_ Ontario's calm, collected voice made Virginia grit her teeth in annoyance.

"I know this is an inconvenience, but I really do need to speak to him directly. And don't try to ignore me, we both know that what I have to say directly affects the national security of both our countries."

"_Wait one moment, please."_ The province's tone made it clear that he was pretty pissed, but the state didn't really care. She was simply too busy trying to run a country to worry about stepping on other peoples toes.

"_Hello?"_ Canada's voice sounded pained and tinny through the phone.

"Uncle Williams, I'm sure that you know about Alfred being down behind enemy lines. I apologize for ignoring your calls for the last twelve hours, but we had to make sure that our borders were secure." Virginia took a deep breath before continuing. "Mathew, we are getting to the point that we have to bring in our international partners. Currently we have set up a meeting with Sir Kirtland in London. Sean and…"

"_Virginia, could you please stick with official state titles for the moment? I'm currently fitting a major headache and I don't know if I can keep everything straight, especially everyone's given name."_

"Understood." The state sighed and picked up her train of thought again. "New York and Vermont made arrangements for a plane to London so that we can meet with England in person. If you are interested then you are invited to join them. If you take on the offer, we'll have all the documents needed to bring speed waiting on the plane. We'll also send West Virginia and Tennessee with you to carry messages back and forth until the State Department can arrange for a few official embassy couriers for our use."

"_When do would leave?"_

"The plane should arrive at CFB Borden in two hours. If possible be there to meet the plane when its lands. We'd all like to get to London as quickly as possible."

* * *

_February 21__th__, 1953_

_Heathrow, London, England_

Canada had to admit that he was a bit frustrated with the American States. He understood why they felt that America's disappearance needed to be kept a secret; he just didn't understand why they felt that he shouldn't be included in the discussion while England was pulled in so early. Still, this wasn't the right time to complain about the states' choices. He needed to focus on getting his brother back, so he spent his limited energy on reading the thick stack of reports that Virginia had prepared for him instead of concentrating on past slights.

Unfortunately, transatlantic flights were lengthy and technical reports were never known for their readability so it didn't take long for the thrum of the engines and the muted murmur of conversations to lull the tired nation to sleep. He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, the plane had come to complete stop and a very tired and worried-looking England was bending over him.

"You are looking rough," the northern country couldn't stop himself from blurting out.

"And you are one to talk?" England let a faint smile dance across his lips as he tiredly scrubbed a hand across his face. The older nation took a deep breath and then focused on the problem at hand. "I assume that you have been briefed."

"Yes…"

"Do you think that the States' analysis is correct?"

"I do."

"Have you managed to come up with a plan?"

"Not yet… all I know is that if we're going to pull off this rescue then we're going to need a lot of help." Canada let the heaviness of his words weigh down his entire body. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he looked up into the face of his former guardian, noting the strange glint in the Brit's eyes.

"Oh, I have already taken care of that."

* * *

_February 23__th__, 1953_

_Parliament Building, London, England_

In a perfect world, a plan to rescue America would have already been created and implemented but the world was not perfect. It took England two days to organize an emergency meeting for select NATO allies and an extra third day to transport the various national personifications to London. Norway had been the last nation to arrive, landing at Heathrow airport only two hours ago.

Now, the representative of the British Empire stood at the head of heavy wooden table scanning the faces that were before him. On his right, Canada was doing his best to sit up straight and appear normal, but the dark circles under the young nation's eyes spoke volumes. Beside the North America nation, Norway was ignoring everyone else in the room, preferring to stare at the cup of coffee as though he wanted to murder it. On England's right, France was attempting to flirt with Belgium while at the back of the room, a few of America's states and Canada's territories were busying themselves with stacks of paperwork and maps.

"Where is Alfred?" Belgium finally broke the uncomfortable silence that swallowed the room.

England allowed his eyes to harden and his mouth to settle into a grim frown. He paused for a few moments to allow the European's question to sink in and then opened his mouth to speak.

"Friends and allies, Alfred is the reason that I have called this meeting. Three days ago, America's plane went down in the Korean Theater and evidence suggests that he might be as far north as the USSR. While America's decision to fly recklessly into a war zone was foolish, that does not change the fact that we need America. The question I am posing to all of you is, how are we going to get him back?"

* * *

_**End Note-**__ So did you enjoy? If you did, please leave a review. If you didn't, please leave a message and tell me how I can do better. Thanks a ton! _


	3. Chapter 2: Physical Geography

_**Author's Note**__- Hey everyone. Welcome to chapter 2, aka, the groundwork and start of the rescue mission. Before we start the chapter I would like to ask you the readers a question. Would it be helpful if I produced a series of maps to help you keep track of where the characters are located throughout this story? I know that I am writing about places that most of you have never heard of let alone been and I was wondering if some extra context would be helpful. Also a quick shout out to Guest, astrumadamas, and tapion580 for reviewing the last chapter. Most of all thank you to TheNSIGirl for betaing this chapter. You guys are awesome!_

_**Disclaimer **__- Don't own Hetalia, but I do enjoy writing fanfiction for it._

* * *

**Chapter 2- Physical Geography**

* * *

_February 23__th__, 1953_

_Parliament Building, London, England_

"As far as I can see, there are only two ways for us to go about this rescue. We can either have someone head north from Korea, or enter China through the East China Sea. Both these routes are incredibly challenging but should be…" England motioned towards the map that was tacked to the wall as he spoke.

"Both routes are impossible," France interrupted him tiredly.

"Well, you haven't presented any ideas!"

"That doesn't change the fact that all of your suggestions are completely useless-"

"Will you two stop it?!" Canada exclaimed, setting down his teacup on the table hard enough that it clattered noisily. The sound gained the nations' attention, causing them to become quiet and listen to the North American. "Thank you. I will admit that I have to agree with France," Canada said.

"You would," England scoffed, but Canada ignored him and continued to speaking in a calm, measured tone.

"Trying to enter China, whether by land through Korea, or by sea, is not realistic. Any nation of European descent trying to cross the Bamboo curtain would get picked up instantly."

"Couldn't you send in one of the Asian colonies?" Belgium asked, causing France and England to glare at her. "What? England has Hong Kong and Malaya, France still has French Indochina, and America is currently occupying the majority of Japan and South Korea. They all practically look alike and they belong to you, so why shouldn't we send them in to do the dirty work?"

"That is a terrible idea on so many levels," France scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

"Listen, going through the Bamboo Curtain isn't going to work," Canada interjected politely, "but I think that crossing the Ice Curtain might."

"The what?" Belgium questioned, her head cocked to one side.

"The Ice Curtain, the boundary between the territory of Alaska and Siberia. The weather up there is so unpredictable at this time of year that crossing the Bering Strait would be nearly impossible, so the Soviet Block doesn't expend a lot of resources to guard it. With a proper guide, one or two people could easily slip in undetected."

"And who would you use for a guide?" England countered.

"The arctic territories," Canada stated without reservation.

"I thought we weren't going to bring colonies into this." France pointed out.

"We are not going to bring in the Asian colonies, but we didn't say anything about the arctic ones. Currently, most of Europe's colonies in Asia are asking for independence from their various parent empires. This is a perfectly healthy part of becoming a fully recognized nation, but it does complicate loyalties. It is difficult to put your complete faith in someone who is actively fighting against you. Luckily, the arctic territories don't have this baggage and they have been proving themselves very useful in defending North America and Europe from attack by the communists."

"And how exactly are we going to get a hold of these 'Arctics'?" Belgium asked, clearly curious.

"I have called in two arctic territories, one of mine and the other Alfred's. They have both proven their loyalties and are the only people I know who can get across the Ice Curtain undetected."

"When will they get here?"

"They should arrive first thing tomorrow morning…"

"Well, that should give us a few hours to come up with a plan of attack," France leaned back into his seat. "I vote that we enter Russia through the Ice Curtain."

Belgium, Canada, Norway, and France voted for the Ice Curtain. England glared at the other nations in the room in reply.

* * *

_February 24__th__, 1953_

_Parliament Building, London, England_

Not much progress had been made since the group of allied nations decided to rescue America from the Soviet Union by traveling through Alaska. It turned out that only Canada and Norway actually had logistical knowledge on how to function in the high arctic. Yet, that fact didn't stop the other three countries from stating their very strong opinions about who should perform the rescue. England and Belgium sided with each other while France had decided to spout insults at the other two groups. By midnight on the 23rd, it was clear that everyone was exhausted and cranky, so England insisted that they adjourn for the night so they could get a few hours of shut-eye.

The next morning, the situation seemed to be a little better as France decided to side with Canada and Norway. While this action effectively ended the stalemate, it didn't end their debate, which they continued when they met up for breakfast.

"I still hold the opinion that Mathew is more suited to the climate," Belgium stated as she speared a piece of sausage with her fork.

"I don't think anyone will argue with you about that my darling, but we have to have someone impersonating America," France replied, with a flourish of his spoon. "The communist world would start to wonder if one of the planet's major super-powers simply disappeared off the face of the earth."

"I hadn't thought about that…" Belgium admitted.

"You never would," Norway muttered into his coffee.

"Why you!" the trim female country glared across the table, ready to rain insults down on the Nordic country, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

"Come in," France said in a playful tone.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal a nervous-looking Ontario. "Excuse me sir, I hope that I'm not interrupting things."

"Nothing too important," Canada smiled fondly at his province. "Do you have something to report?"

"I just got a call from the airport. They have arrived."

"Thank you Ontario," The northern nation nodded his approval. "Would you mind driving England and Alaska to the manor? I believe that the British Empire will need to pack a few things before catching his flight to North America."

"Wait, I thought we hadn't agreed to that yet?" England exclaimed, letting his teacup clatter onto the table.

"You haven't agreed, but that doesn't change the fact that you're going," Canada said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Unless, you want to leave the fate of your greatest ally and friend in the hands of a territory?"

"I have no problem driving England and Alaska, but who is going to pick up Northwest? We can't leave her at the airport!"

"I have already arranged for a car to bring her directly here. I would like to brief her as soon as possible."

"So, you are planning on sending two territories with England?" Norway asked, head cocked slightly to one side.

"Of course not, Northwest has too much of a presence to ever be a spy," Canada could help but chuckle.

"Then what is the Northwest Territories doing here?" France pushed.

"We are going to use her to track our progress," Canada said cryptically. He then turned to England with a patronizing smile and pushed him out the door. "Now, go be a good nation and let Alaska get you prepped for the journey. The rest of us still have to figure out how to keep the world from going to heck in a hand basket while you are gone."

* * *

_February 24__th__, 1953_

_Rose of England Manor, London, England_

England had been stuck with Alaska for a little over two hours and he was already dreading traveling with her. The moment they had walked into his home, she had stormed into his bedroom and started to tear through his drawers; what were once neatly folded clothes were thrown into haphazard piles on the floor. Then, when she apparently didn't find the items she was seeking, she stomped out of the room to terrorize his closets. It would take him weeks to get things back into working order.

Sitting on the floor and going through the piles of clothing, England began to realize that he really didn't have a lot of gear suitable for cold weather. Yes, he had a few heavy sweaters and a beautiful woolen pea coat in his closet but being fashionable wasn't going to keep him warm in the bitterly cold arctic weather.

He knew that Finland supplied most of the United Kingdom's polar explorers with the gear they needed to survive at the nether reaches of the planet, but since WWII, Finland had become a communist. No matter how desperate he was, England wasn't going to buy anything from the communist twerp; it just wasn't going to happen. This meant that he was probably going to have to wear the brand new cashmere sweater America had given him last Christmas.

"You're not wearing that." England spun around just in time to spot the Territory of Alaska eyeing the sweater from the doorway.

"There can't possibly be anything wrong with it, I have only worn it twice," England gritted his teeth and tried his very best to not to throttle the territory.

"That may be, but it doesn't change the fact that you're still not wearing that," Alaska said flatly.

"And may I ask why?"

"Simple. It's too new. You'll stick out like a sore thumb in the communist block."

"Then what do you expect me to wear? Wait, let me guess, I will be running around nude!"

"If you did that, you would stick out even more," Alaska rolled her eyes at the island nation. "Plus, if you wore nothing, someone might confuse you with France, and the mosquitoes would suck you dry before we reach our destination. Instead, we are going to stop at Yukon's house on the way to Russia. He is roughly your build so I'm sure he can lend you clothes that will work for our mission."

The rest of the afternoon turned out to be infuriating; every time England tried to pack something needed for 'civilized' company Alaska threw it out. It was true that he didn't need a tea service or a cape to perform occult ceremonies with, but it would seem logical that he would at least need a proper coat. Alaska seemed to disagree.

In the end, she managed to whittle down his supplies into enough that could fit comfortably into a small knapsack: one pair of pants, one shirt, a pair of old but sturdy military boots from WWII, four pairs of underwear, the manuscript for a new book that the Queen had given him, and one wand. (The 'demon' Territory had fought him on the wand, but England packed it anyway)

"Pack that as well," Alaska said as she handed him a small, oilskin-wrapped package.

"What?" England opened the package and found two tattered volumes. He glared at the territory. "I thought you wanted me to pack light."

"I do," Alaska smirked. "And I also want you to include those."

"Why?"

"Because it is my job to keep you alive and safe, and if we get separated, those books may be the only things that keep our mission from failing."

* * *

_February 25__th__, 1953_

_Over the North Atlantic_

The Fairchild C-119 Flying Boxcar was perhaps the most iconic military transport plane on the planet. This was primarily due to the fact that it had been the Americans' preferred workhorse when the allies tried to bring enough supplies to the besieged West Berlin to keep the people from starving. The Flying Boxcar had been the backbone of the air bridge that had broken the Soviet Union's attempt to take the entire German capital for itself. It would be the West's first victory in the Cold War.

Still, England admitted to himself, just because a plane was favored by the air force, it didn't mean that it was comfortable. This was particularly true for the Flying Boxcar; the aircraft's interior was cramped, the seats were poorly padded and they were arranged along the outside of the fuselage, which caused the occupants' warmth to be leached into the metal of the plane's hull. Then there was the fact that the cabin was not pressurized. Yes, England knew that pressurized cabins were a recent luxury, but the lack of pressure during his flight was giving him a massive headache.

"Don't worry; we're going to be landing in Iceland pretty soon." Alaska words interrupted England's thoughts.

"Then we will fly on to Canada I assume?" He inquired grumpily.

"Of course not," the territory didn't even bother looking up from her knitting. "We are flying from Iceland to Greenland."

"But that would put us hundreds of miles out of our way. There is no practical reason to fly north when the plane has endurance to fly from Iceland to North America!"

"You countries with your equatorial view of the world," Alaska muttered to herself before correcting England's assumptions. "It would be a waste of time for us to fly across Canada. Doesn't it make more sense to travel the shortest distance possible between two points instead of taking our sweet time flying over the continent?"

"I guess," The nation said, not following the territory's line of logic.

"You have heard of Great Lines, correct?" the territory pushed.

"Of course. England has been the world's maritime superpower for centuries."

"Then you know that with the concept of Great Lines, you can calculate the shortest course between two points by taking into account the fact that the earth is round," Alaska said, annoyance sharp in her voice. "In our case, the shortest flight path will take us over the polar ice sheet."

"Is that safe?"

"Would we be doing it if it wasn't safe?"

"I don't know," England admitted his doubt.

"The answer is no. Our mission is dangerous enough without adding unneeded risks," the territory said, little tears of frustration forming at the corners of her eyes. "I know that you don't think particularly high of me; after all, I'm not even a nation, I'm simply a territory. What could I possibly know about international politics? Who am I to play guide to the mighty British Empire? But the fact is, you need me. Trust me to actually complete my duties."

* * *

_February 25__th__, 1953_

_Over the Greenland Ice Sheet_

England's comments had severely offended Alaska. Even though the nation was older than her, and was a fully recognized country, that didn't give him the right to insult her ability to make travel plans. After all, England had never been to this part of the world; she lived here every day. Still, she had to take the high ground here; she was going to have to bite back her temper and offer an olive branch if this mission was going to work.

Alaska had never been particularly good at taming her temper. Even when they changed planes in Iceland, she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from giving out a few caustic remarks. During their second flight of the day, she sat as stiff as a statue; the only things that she moved were her hands as she deliberately knitted yarn together to make a misshaped sock. England tried to ignore her by focusing on the manuscript that he had brought with him. He was about to laugh at something he had read when he glanced up and noticed the territory's dark eyes boring into him.

"Is there a problem?" England stammered.

"Tell me about the document that you are reading."

"This?" he asked and she nodded. "Well, it is called Casino Royale and it is by Ian Fleming."

"And what is it about?" she asked with a birdlike tilt to her head.

"It is a spy novel."

"And?" the territory prompted.

"Well, the main character is Special Agent 007 James Bond." England chuckled to himself, then launched into an explanation of the plot that he had read so far. "His boss, known as M, assigned him to play against the villain Le Chiffre in a high-stakes baccarat game, so he travels to the Royale-Lex-Eaux casino in northern France with his assigned companion and fellow spy Vesper Lynd…"

The nation spent the next hour describing the twists and turns of the book's plot. He was so enthralled by his own telling, he didn't notice that somewhere along the line, Alaska had fallen asleep.

* * *

_February 25__th__, 1953_

_Thursk Air Base, Greenland_

The personification of England would openly admit that airplanes made him nervous. He also knew that the North American nations had become very fond of using this type of aerial transport to get from one point to another. It made sense; America and Canada were two of the largest countries on the planet and they both had taken England up in their favorite aircraft when their former care-taker had come to visit them. Yet, none of those flights had prepared England for his journey over the pole.

"We're going to fly in that."

The plane that Alaska had just pointed out was massive. The Convair B-36 Peacemaker 70's one meter wingspan dwarfed the plane which the two had traveled on so far on their journey. In fact, it was the largest mass-produced plane ever made.

Even though England had seen Peacemakers land in British airbases before, it didn't prepare him for the sight of the plane in its natural element. The B-36 had been created for one reason, to drop nuclear bombs on the Soviet Union. Since the shortest distance between North America and Russia was over the polar icecap, almost all of these striking aircraft were stationed near the Arctic Circle. Their home airbases were all specially equipped with extra long runways and special enclosures to help protect the men making repairs from the harsh elements.

"Excuse me ma'am, but this is a restricted area," a wary U.S. Air Force officer stated harshly as he blocked the two personification's path towards the aircraft.

"We have clearance," Alaska replied haughtily.

"Papers." The officer stuck out his hand and the two fished out their travel documents. The man looked at them warily, then handed them back. "Your papers check out, for now, but I am very uncomfortable about the Brit."

"This man has more security clearance than you will ever have. Anyway, he has spent enough time studying the schematics of the Cloudmaker, he could probably construct one in his sleep," The state explained smoothly. "That is, if he had the right equipment."

That comment got the soldier's attention. It was true that he was still not keen about letting England into the hanger, but he wasn't going to cross a nuclear scientist. They were an odd group of people who played with radiation. Since the man planned to have a family at sometime in the future, he waved the two through without another word.

When the two personifications were out of ear shot, England leaned over and whispered into Alaska's ear. "I don't know anything about building a nuclear bomb. We just copy the templates that the United States gives us."

"So?" she shrugged.

"You just lied to that man," the nation elaborated.

"Yep, and it got him to shut up, so I don't feel any guilt at all," the territory said without concern as she walked towards the pilot's briefing area. "Let's report to the aircraft commander and get our luggage loaded." She paused and then glanced at England over her shoulder. "Oh, and keep your James Bond book out for this flight. Peacemakers might have the largest flight range of any aircraft, but they're as slow as we can get."

* * *

_February 25__th__, 1953_

_Middle of Nowhere, Yukon Territory, Canada _

England was currently revising his opinion of flying. He once thought that military planes were bad; now he knew that there was something even worse – bush flying. When England had spotted the tiny aircraft waiting for them on the tarmac when the Peacemaker landed, he had thought that the plane was cute. Now, he thought that it was a death trap.

The aircraft was being tossed and jostled by the storm, it's wipers barely keeping the windshield clear of sleet. Between the driving snow and the cloud-darkened sky, it was difficult to see where the plane was going, but there was just enough light for England to make out the towering pine trees that were way to close for his comfort.

"Are you sure that you know where we are going?" the nation asked through clenched teeth.

"Of course," Alaska replied calmly. "I could fly into this airstrip with my eyes closed."

England waited a few moments, but when he noticed that the plane was dropping closer and closer to the tree canopy, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Are you sure everything is okay? Those trees seem to be getting closer to the plane!"

"The reason the trees are getting closer is because we're flying downwards. And before you panic, remember that flying towards the ground is an essential step in landing a plane."

"Are you sure you know where this airstrip is?"

"For the last time, yes, I know where it is. For goodness' sake, I helped build the thing. Now, would you kindly shut up? I'm trying to fly in non-ideal conditions here."

"I thought you could land with your eyes closed."

"I can. You're just giving me a headache."

The territory's comment shut England up long enough for her to thread through the trees and land the plane on a smooth patch of snow. At first, the nation was convinced that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, until he saw a man with a lantern standing at the end of the runway. With practiced grace, the man quickly made his way over to the plane.

"Sir Kirtland, Samantha, I'm so glad that you both have finally made it here safely," the personification of the Yukon Territory said as he pulled open the plane's back door and started to pull out their luggage. "I'm sure that you are hungry from all of your traveling, so I have food waiting for you on the table. It may not be as fancy as what you are used to, but it's warm and filling."

"Thank you Logan. Your thoughtfulness is really appreciated," Alaska said with a twinkle in her eye.

* * *

It proved to be a short walk from the runway to the territory's home. From the outside, Yukon's cabin appeared to be very rustic, but when they entered, England was pleasantly surprised by the amenities. Even though the cabin was over a hundred miles from the nearest community, it had electrical lights and a tank in the attic provided the sinks with running water. As Yukon showed England to a comfortable guest room, complete with a crackling fire in the hearth, he told the nation that he could have a hot bath or shower after dinner.

The Yukon Territory's kitchen proved to be just as warm and inviting. The wood burning in the oven infused the fresh bread and hearty roast with the scent of birch smoke, the heavy pine table covered with stoneware dishes filled with steaming food and mason jars of preserved vegetables. Normally, England would have been put off by the rustic display, but right now, the hospitality was a welcome relief after a hectic twenty-two hours of travel.

After dinner, Alaska and the Yukon Territory spent two hours assembling the supplies that England would be needing to survive the trip into the Soviet Union. While he didn't have a clue what half the stuff was for, he was now feeling more comfortable about the coming trip. His fears now alleviated, England found himself seated in front of a crackling fire in an overstuffed armchair. It didn't take long for his eyes to start drifting shut.

"Is there anything else you need before you go up to bed?" Yukon asked with the efficiency of a practiced host. "An extra blanket perhaps, or maybe a glass of whiskey?"

"No, you have done more than enough for tonight. Though, I think I will stay down here by the fire for a few more minutes before going up to bed. I find watching the flames relaxing."

"Very well sir," the territory said with a nod, then turned his attention to his neighbor. "Samantha, is there anything that you need?"

"I need a bit of a favor."

"What is it?"

"Logan, we need to ask you for the location of America's plane. Right now, we don't have any clue in what part of the country America went down in. I also know that it takes a lot more effort to find a small object versus a larger one. If we find the plane, then I suspect that we will not have to travel too far to find America."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't ask you if we had a choice. The world is in balance and we need that information."

"You know the cost…"

"Yes, I do Logan."

"Alright, I trust you."

"If there was any other way, I would take it…"

"Samantha, I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me unless there was no other way."

England didn't hear the rest of the conversation. The two territories had both moved to an upper room in the house, leaving the nation to make his own way to bed. Staring at the wooden plank ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder how in the world a North American territory would be able to locate the exact position of America. England had already tried, but his spell had failed because his former colony was too incapacitated.

The thought of America laying broken and bleeding on the snow in another country was almost enough to make England openly weep. Even though he was no longer America's parent country and the North American was no longer his territory, their shared history made England desperately want to protect the younger nation. The realization that geography was preventing him from helping his friend caused warm tears to flow down his cheeks until he fell asleep.

* * *

_February 26__th__, 1953_

_Middle of Nowhere, Yukon Territory, Canada _

England first awoke to the sound of metal banging against ice. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sound, but he was exhausted by the journey, so he threw a pillow over his head and went back to sleep. When he woke up the second time, it was because Yukon was shaking him awake.

"Is it time to wake up already?"

"Actually," the territory admitted with embarrassment, "I probably should have gotten you up about an hour ago. With the winds permission, you're going to be flying out in half an hour."

"Is Alaska up yet?"

"Sam? She's been up for at least three hours. She had to get the ice scrapped off the plane so you could fly it, then she helped a bit getting breakfast done before I sent her upstairs to get a bath. I think she's currently in the kitchen drying her hair by the fire." As the Yukon Territory rambled, England couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open in shock.

"Do you Arctics ever sleep?"

"At this time of year?" Yukon looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. Well you better get dressed, breakfast is on the table and the plane is on the tarmac."

* * *

The breakfast spread that was waiting on the kitchen table was as elaborate as last night's dinner had been. There were two loaves of fresh bread, dozens of preserves, a jug of birch syrup, and piles of steaks and pancakes. It was simply impossible for three personifications to consume all the food on the table, not that the three of them didn't try.

Once full, the only thing that England wanted to do was take a nap, but the two territories had already put away all of the bedding from his bed and had packed his knapsack into the plane. All the nation could do was to follow the territories out into the cold. Peeking through the widow in the front door, he could see the two of them talking. At some level, England wanted to stroll out and ask them what was going on, but a part of him wanted to hold back and observe.

"Sam, I got everything fueled up this morning while you were taking a bath. Everything should be up to your specs."

"Thank you. I know you've done a wonderful job with my aircraft."

"What are awkward pseudo-siblings for?" Yukon asked rhetorically, a blush beginning to form on his cheeks.

"It still doesn't mean that your care means a less to me." She smoothed a stray hair back in place, her eyes distant.

"Come back in one piece."

"I'll try my best to do so."

"Goodbye and good luck." Yukon wrapped Alaska in a bear hug, letting go reluctantly.

"Stay safe," Alaska replied with a final soft smile, before turning her full attention to her aircraft.

The Yukon Territory was left standing awkwardly on his porch, waiting for the plane to be ready for take-off. England chose this moment to exit the house. The territory gave one last mournful look towards Alaska, then turned his attention towards his guest.

"Is there anything else you will need, sir?" Yukon asked, breaking the silence.

"Nothing I know of," England admitted.

"Very good," the territory said, mostly to himself. "Well, Sam is getting the Beaver warmed up. You should be in the air within a half hour."

"The Beaver?"

"The L-20 Beaver, the plane that you flew in on," Yukon prompted. "I think that it's practically the same model as the Beaver AL Mk 1 we sold to the British Government during WWII."

"You mean that is a military plane?"

"Yep."

"Which means that Alaska is a military pilot?"

"Of course, she joined the military during WWII and kind of just stuck with it. At first, America was pretty upset with her, but when the Cold War broke out in earnest, he discovered that having Alaska up there was useful."

"Sir Kirkland, the plane is taking off in five minutes, regardless of whether you are on the plane or not."

"Coming," England shouted grumpily at the American territory, before turning his attention towards her Canadian counterpart. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for the gear. I will find a way to repay you for them in the future."

"Don't worry about that, just make sure that you bring Alaska and America back home safely. The world wouldn't be the same without them," Yukon said with a shake of his head, then motioned towards the waiting plane. "Now, you better run and catch your flight."

* * *

_February 26__th__, 1953_

_Wales, Alaska_

The small plane spluttered in the arctic air as the engine struggled to run due to the fuel and lubricants beginning to solidify in the sub-zero temperatures. England was starting to wonder if Alaska was going to crash the plane, leaving him encased in a glacier instead of safely conveying him to Siberia.

As if to answer his fears, the aircraft lurched downwards for a moment before the wind caught the plane's wings. The whole plane shook ominously let out the low moan of metal scrapping against metal. The British nation was about to swear, when a thud threw him back in his seat. The sound of wood scrapping over rotten snow was deafening and he squeezed his eyes shut, convinced that the end had come. Then, there was silence.

"Well, we are here." The North American territory's voice shattered the moment.

England slowly cracked one eye open and realized that the plane had come to a complete stop. Shakily, the nation took a deep breath. When he was sure that he wasn't going to wet his pants, he turned his attention to his companion. The intensity of the landing didn't seem to faze the young pilot and the island nation began to feel his temper boiling over.

"What were you thinking, flying like that? You could have gotten us both killed!" The only response he got was a shrug from Alaska, as she undid the latch to the door. The next thing he knew, she was dragging him out into the snowy landscape.

"Welcome to the Bering Strait," Alaska pointed towards the wide expanse of twisted sea ice that lay before them. "This is where the real journey begins."

* * *

_**End Note**__-So, the story is starting to heat up as our characters are plugged into the cold. Hopefully you are enjoying the plot so far. If you are please drop me a line and let me know. I love having feedback because it helps me become a better writer…it also keeps me motivated about writing which means you get the next chapter quicker. _

_**Next Chapter**__- England and Alaska strike out across the Bering Strait. It doesn't take long for them to begin to meet challenges. From world's largest land predator to polynya, the British Empire quickly realizes he is completely unprepared for the dangers that lurk above the Arctic Circle. Especially when Alaska makes a miss calculation that places him in harms way…_


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